Of Hearts and Flowers
by Rochester'sJane
Summary: Jaime Lannister slid his arms around his lady and drew her back into his chest. He tilted his head to the side and purred into her ear. "I know today is not your nameday, my love. Today is St. Valentine's Day, and this is my gift to you." My very first fanfiction-finally! If you like it, PLEASE review and let me know! Spoilers for AFfC. Main characters belong to GRRM, obviously.
1. Chapter 1: Of Blood and Septons

**Chapter 1: Of Blood and Septons**

"Oh, Jaime! It's remarkably beautiful—but this is not my nameday!"

Jaime Lannister slid his arms around his lady and drew her back into his chest. He tilted his head to the side and purred into her ear. "I know today is not your nameday, my love. Today is St. Valentine's Day, and this is my gift to you." He punctuated his words with a nip to her earlobe.

Brienne turned in his arms to face him, her gift held in her hand at her side. "What in Westeros is St. Valentine's Day?"

"Tyrion told me about it—several hundred years ago, in one of the lands far across the sea, some rogue septon named Valentinus secretly married Kingsguardsmen to their ladies. He paid a bloody price for his kind disobedience."

"It is the same everywhere, isn't it? We all pay a bloody price, sooner or later. Especially the more we love." Brienne sighed. "I wish I knew what the purpose of it all was—why the Gods toy with us so."

Jaime used his remaining fingers to tip up her chin, so he could look straight into her clear blue eyes. "I have never pretended to spend any serious time contemplating the wills of the Gods—but I know this—love, true love—what I feel for you—is well worth a bloody price." He captured her lips, snaking his arms around her tighter. She began to resist out of habit but then succumbed, melting into him as much as she could as they were both of a like height and stature, and for a while, martyred septons and bloody prices drifted out of both of their minds, chased away by the very real and present heat and strength and assuredness of their embrace.

"Ow, wench! Watch where you're poking that thing!" Jamie spoke through his kiss as Brienne's new bejeweled golden dagger, still in her hand, pricked his thigh.

"I could say the same to _you_, ser—and your weapon is so much more dangerous."

Jaime laughed. His wench was becoming saucier by the day and he positively loved it. He caught up her right wrist with his left hand, twisting slightly so the offending blade wouldn't accidently castrate him. With his right arm he pulled tighter Brienne's body into his own, forcing her to feel the steel of his weapon against her center. He lowered his voice to the lustful, quiet register he knew made her legs weak. "I plan to show you just how dangerous my blade can be, my love—but later. Right now, I have more St. Valentine's Day gifts for you—"

"But, Jaime—"

"No protests, my lady. Soon enough we will have to pay more bloody prices. Today, at least, we are going to commemorate that old septon's sacrifice and enjoy each other's love. By the Gods, we are going to have ourselves some bloody _fun_." And with that, Jamie Lannister smirked cockily, kissed Brienne fully on the mouth once more, and releasing her, headed for the door.

"Where are you going? I thought you just said we were going to have fun?"

"We are," he said, his hand on the iron doorpull. "But this next portion of the day is a gift for you to revel in alone. Through that door I've had a bath prepared for you, and as much as I'd love to watch your perfect naked body get wet and warm—" he paused and swallowed, as images of a nude Brienne lounging in steaming, soapy water presented themselves in his brain. He cleared his throat. "I'm leaving. Just for a while. I've things to do. When I come back, you won't be able to get rid of me—no matter how much you might beg—and, make no mistake—" he said, winking, "I fully intend to hear you beg tonight." Jaime quickly opened the door, exited, and shut it again, leaving Brienne standing in the solar, a bit bewildered and flushed from all the heavy kissing and suggestive words.

The Lady of Tarth crossed to the large window and looked out over the sunny, changing landscape. She held up her new dagger and turned it in her hands, watching the large heart-shaped deep blue sapphires and dark red garnets embedded in the golden hilt shine in the autumn light. The blade itself was forged of blue and red precious metals that twisted around a solid core of gleaming dragonglass. Suddenly, Brienne shivered, unsure of the exact reason. Perhaps it was the sight of the dragonglass that elicited her physical response, indicating that her newly-found happiness was fated to be short-lived. Perhaps it was simply the crisp air from the window that made her shiver, reminding her that, regardless, she needed to get out of her clothes. Her garments were still damp with the exertion from her and Jaime's early-morning training session in the yard. Jaime had presented her with the gift upon helping each other out of their armor.

Brienne snapped out of her reverie at the sound of the door to the bathing chamber opening. "Your bath is ready, my lady," curtseyed a young slip of a maid. The scent of sweet milk and rose petals drifted out of the steamy room. Brienne shyly smiled, gently placed the dagger on the windowsill, and crossed into the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Beauty and Roses

**Chapter 2: Of Beauty and Roses **

Brienne shed her clothing and stepped gingerly into the large tub, quietly displacing a floating carpet of fresh rose petals in scarlet, pink, and ivory hues. Tendrils of steam twisted up from the water's milky surface. Brienne took a deep breath and eased herself down into the bath. The heat of the water made her gasp, and her feet burned cold, her body reacting to the shock of the temperature change. She sunk down until the water lapped up to her chin, submerged herself, and resurfaced, whisking away droplets out of her eyes and smoothing back her wispy blond hair. Brienne leaned back with her head on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes. She opened them quickly and tensed as she felt soft hands gently lift her head and slip a fluffy rolled towel behind her neck. "It's all right, my lady. Just making you more comfortable."

The maidservant's little hands eased Brienne's head back into place. "Oh," Brienne murmured, and breathed deeply again.

The sound of a stool scraped the floor as the maid seated herself behind Brienne's head. "I am going to wash your hair now, my lady, if it please you."

Brienne's eyes fluttered open again, mildly discomfited. "Oh—um—I can do that. You needn't trouble yourself."

"'Tis no trouble, my lady. Ser Jaime said you were to have a right proper highborn ladies' washing-up. He said that if you argued, I'm to tell you that this is also part of his gift."

Brienne wanted to be irritated, but gave up. She didn't want to spoil it for Jaime—he derived such glee from having his expectations go as planned_. That's one way I know that I love him,_ she thought. _I care more about hurting his feelings than I do about preventing my own discomfort. _ "All right, Joenna. I will behave myself and do as Ser Jaime wishes—only, if he asks you, please tell him I fought harder than this."

Joenna smiled. "Of course, my lady. Now, please relax and tip your head back a bit." Brienne heard a crock being opened and then the soft _glop_ of soap being removed. Seconds later, there was a squelching as Joenna rubbed soap through her hands and placed them on Brienne's head and not only began to wash Brienne's hair, but her slight, nimble fingers actually _massaged _Brienne's scalp. "Oh my—this is _heavenly_," Brienne sighed.

"Thank you, my lady," Joenna smiled. Her hands moved down to rub Brienne's neck and shoulders, and back up again across her temples, jaw, and behind her ears.

"Oh—oh my…" Brienne murmured. She was surprised how tightly she'd been tensing her muscles in her neck, head, and shoulders. It was amazing how painful certain spots were, as Jenna's fingers discovered and tried to work out knots and attend to pressure points.

"Try to relax, my lady," Joenna encouraged. "You work as hard as a man—harder than most, even. You ask a lot of your body. I've much work to do here."

"Mmmm," Brienne murmured again. "Women work hard, too. I imagine tending babies and doing housework are no easier on the body than swinging a sword."

Joenna laughed. "Aye, women have the worst of it in this life, no matter what work they do." She scooped up more soap and applied it to Brienne's scalp, rubbing vigorously.

The strong, sweet scent of roses permeated the air from both the petals in the water and the soft soap. Brienne inhaled slowly. "Lovely, isn't it, my lady?" Joenna read Brienne's mind. "I make this soap myself," she continued proudly. "My mother taught me. My father plucked her from Highgarden when she was just a girl."

XOXOXOX

Brienne had hated roses for most of her life. The rose cast in her face by Red Ronnet Connington had forever associated the traditional token of love with humiliation and rejection. "That ends now," Jaime had declared, nostrils flaring, when she had related that story one night after several glasses of watered wine. "You just need a new experience with the flower—you need a powerful replacement. Nothing should ever make you feel less than the true beauty that you are again."

Brienne had grimaced. "I am no beauty, Jaime. Don't mock me please. I get tired of pretending those kinds of remarks don't bother me, and I don't want to pretend with you."

"Ah my love, will you never believe that I find you beautiful? Surely, you have learned that physical beauty so often encompasses a vile spirit, and that the ugliest of visages can encase the loveliest of souls? It is our actions that make us appear ugly, Brienne, and it is also our actions that render us resplendent." Brienne shook her head slightly and cast down her eyes. "Look at _me_, my love. I have been praised my whole life for physical beauty, but by how am I referred? Ser Jaime the Handsome and Just? Ser Jaime the Fair-Faced and Good-Hearted? Nay. I have been the _Kingslayer_. I _am_ the Kingslayer. Forever. _Forever_. Because of one misunderstood albeit traditionally heinous act. I cannot ever erase that. I don't know that I deserve to, and I'm not sure that I even want to, but I doubt that even if I did, I don't think I _could_ erase it. Even if it was understood why I killed the Mad King, the Gods know that I have committed enough separate despicable acts to deserve a condemned title. Even my new sobriquet, _Golden Hand_, diminishes my entire self to a single flaw."

"Now you are the one who needs a more positive outlook, Jaime," Brienne had admonished, taking up his golden hand and kissing the wrist to which it was bound. "_Kingslayer_ and _Golden Hand_ are not doomed titles—they can indeed be names of which you can be proud. You slew a king to save thousands of innocent people—men, women, children, babies!—highborn and smallfolk—from a cruel death. You lost your hand, yes, but with it your hubris, and the loss has allowed you to gain perspective on and inspiration toward the kind of man and knight you want to be. You can still fill your page in the White Book with the very best deeds and kept oaths. You already have begun to do so. You cannot help but that others will one day see what _I_ see in you. You are the very best of men, simply because you strive to do better, to be better—and you are succeeding." She then had raised up in her chair, leant over the table, and kissed him on the mouth.

Jaime had wound his fingers into her fine, lengthening hair. "See, my love? Take your own advice—you are Brienne the_ Beauty_ indeed—your spirit continually earns that title. Others cannot help but one day see what _I_ see in _you_. To know you, my lady, is to see your spirit, and to love the unique package in which it is housed. The Gods must have realized that they had to create a very special casing for such a soul as yours—they must have fought very, very hard to decide how to shape you. The Father imbued you with a relentless, unwavering drive to always do what is right and just; the Smith made it possible for you to keep the most difficult of oaths, to complete the most challenging tasks. And yet, you are so very deliciously feminine—you are nurturing like the Mother, innocent like the Maiden, and intelligent like the Crone. And the Warrior—the Warrior, well—he must have seen the strength of the soul the others created, and he must have known to cloak it in a body that would be able to accept the weighty gifts from the others, a body that would enable you to be independent and to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves."

"Jaime," Brienne had begun softly. She then cleared her throat. "Jaime…by the Seven, that is the most serious train of thought I have ever heard you express."

He had grinned. "I know, right? I think I have met quorum for complex contemplation for at least a decade."

"That, or you're just trying to flatter me out of my breeches."

"I'm hurt, my love, truly. As if I would need flattery. If I want your breeches off, all I need to do is lower my voice in a certain way…and look at you like thus…" Brienne had lunged across the table with a murderous glint in her eyes, but Jaime quickly had pushed back his chair out of her reach. He had then picked up the flagon of wine and had poured more into both of their glasses, pushing Brienne's toward her, a little red sloshing over the lip of the glass. He had sipped his loudly and appreciatively. "Now, my feisty wench, back to the topic of roses—"

From then on, Jaime had committed himself to replace Brienne's negative association with roses with positive ones, ones that would remind her of her golden knight and his deep love for her, not of the vulgar ingrate from her past. Brienne would find roses of all colors everywhere—only the Gods knew how and from where he procured the sheer diversity and number. There were soft peach varieties on her breakfast plate, then pale pink on her washstand, iceberg white woven into the hem of her cloak, purple-and-ivory twined in her horse's mane and tail, butter yellow stuck in her scabbard, chartreuse in between the covers of her books, sunset orange on her supper table. Dozens of tiny fuchsia rosebuds adorned her bedchamber at night. Brienne had blushed one night to discover deep violet petals scattered between the folds of her clean smallclothes in her linen chest.

But the early dawn Brienne had awoken to Jaime trailing a large crimson bloom down her neck, over her breasts and belly, and between her thighs, Jaime's lustful gaze and naked form softly lit with the pale sunlight peeking through the open window, Brienne had sighed, but not with sadness or regret. "Do you yield, my lady?" he had whispered huskily.

"Oh yes, my lord. I do so yield."

"Thank the Gods," Jaime had grinned. "people were beginning to call _me_ the Knight of Flowers." Brienne had then twined her arms around his neck, bringing him down to her, and Jaime had made love to Brienne slowly and sweetly, and Brienne never again saw or smelled roses and thought of anyone or anything but her Jaime.

XOXOXOX

"The water is cooling, my lady," Joenna said, carefully rinsing Brienne's hair. "It's time for you to step out."

Brienne smiled softly. "Yes, all right, Joenna." The maid brought her a very large cotton sheet within which to wrap herself, and then stood on the stool to pat dry the large lady-knight's hair.

Brienne made to move back to her bedchamber to don fresh clothing, but Joenna stopped her. "Not yet, my lady. You don't need garments for what's coming next."


	3. Chapter 3: Of Good Boys and Filthy Words

**Chapter 3: Of Good Boys and Filthy Words**

"Uuuuuuhhhhhnnnnnnmmmmmfff…" Jaime Lannister groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure, as the beefy-armed block of a maidservant dragged her massive elbow deep and then deeper into the triangles of his shoulder blades. "Fuck, woman! That hurts!"

Jaime yelped as the back of his head was smacked. "You'll not be talking to me with words like that, Master Jaime! I've known ye far too long."

"My apologies, my dear Glenna," Jaime lifted his head to flash the older woman a wide grin while rubbing the back of his head. "Thank you for reminding me of my manners."

"And here I thought that your lady had cured you of those nasty habits—or do you speak to her in that filthy way, too?"

"Alas, my Glenna! As much as I love the Lady Brienne, there are habits that I have that even _she_ cannot break—at least, she hasn't yet."

"Aye, well, ye better watch yourself. Highborn ladies 'specially don't take kindly to filthy words—I imagine that the Lady of Tarth is no different—even though she's…another sort of highborn lady."

"Yes, she is, Glenna—and that's one of the many reasons why I love her." Jaime's voice muffled as he replaced his head among the pillows, Glenna moving on to tackle different muscles in his back. "Although—there _is_ a particular time and place when my lady doesn't mind _at all_ when I use 'filthy words'—in fact, then she quite _enjoys_ them—ow!"

Glenna dug her meaty fingers hard into the sore muscles in Jaime's hips at that comment. "Master Jaime, you—"

"Calm yourself, Glenna! I jest—don't murder me, please."

Glenna sighed. "You are just plain awful, Master Jaime. Truly,"

"But that's why you love me, my Glenna! That's why all the ladies do—even the Lady Brienne." Jaime raised his head again, smiling.

"Put yer great big head back down so's I can finish, Master Jaime, or Lady Brienne will be waiting for your sorry self, and it's _her _day, ye said."

"Too right, Glenna my dear. Again, my apologies. I'll be a good boy."

Glenna harrumphed at that, and began punching and kneading various spots on Jaime's back.

Jaime grew drowsy in spite of the vigorous treatment. Brienne always gave him such a workout both indoors (he smiled inwardly at this) and out that it felt delicious to have his knots and soreness attended to. He knew Brienne would do it for him, if he asked, but he hated to ask her—even though he usually grabbed any opportunity to get her to touch him. It felt so selfish to ask, and she worked so hard anyway, he didn't want her to do any more chores than necessary.

"What is my lady doing now, Glenna? She must be finished with her bath. Has Joenna begun her massage?" Jaime allowed images of an oily, naked Brienne to float around in his brain. He wondered if Brienne was making noises during the massage, and if so, what kind, or if she stayed quiet, like she did sometimes when they took their time and made love slowly. He hoped she liked the rose-scented oils he'd procured for her. His cock twitched at thoughts of what her white, softly freckled skin looked like covered in glistening, sweet-smelling oil; what her small, firm breasts might look like and feel like and _taste_ like with the oil coating them; if her nipples were even right now as hard as dragonglass; if any of that oil had found its way between her breasts, down her hard, flat, delicious torso; if it was slowly oozing between her legs and over the sweet, soft, swollen, intimate flesh there; what it might be like to slide his oiled body over hers, into hers—

"Ach, yes, Joenna finished long ago."

"What?!" Jaime's head shot up. "How long have I been in here? Where is Brienne? Is she waiting for me?"

Glenna stopped her battering of Jaime's shoulders. "What do you mean, Master Jaime? How long did you want your lady to soak in that tub? Do ye want her all pruny?"

"Of course not!—I'm not talking about the _bath_, Glenna!—the massage! _Her_ massage—is it over?" Jaime struggled to sit up.

"Now relax yerself, Master Jaime! The Lady Brienne is still having her massage—you said you wanted her to have an extra-long one."

"But you said that Joenna was finished—"

"Aye, I did. Joenna is finished with the lady's bath."

"Isn't Joenna also giving Lady Brienne her massage?"

"Ach, no, Master Jaime! Your lady's too strong a one for Joenna to do a full massage on her. I had to get Joryn."

"WHAT?!"

"What's the matter wi' ye, Master Jaime! The Lady Brienne needs a _man_ to give her a good massage, that's all, so—"

"Joryn?! Your son, Joryn?" Jamie was flushing purple, snatching up the sheet to cover himself before he jumped from the table.

"Aye, Master Jaime, my son, Joryn. What's wrong with my Joryn? He's a good, strong boy—"

Jaime groaned. "Yes, Glenna, Joryn's a 'good, strong boy'—he's also devilishly handsome and at least four inches taller than me—which makes him—"

"—perfect to _massage_ the Lady Brienne," Glenna finished, "and naught else. Get yer mind out of the chamber pot, Master Jaime. Joryn's not about to steal your lady. His heart is promised elsewhere, and even if it warn't, your lady doesn't look at anyone else but you—and I daresay that the Lady Brienne can handle herself with green, rutting boys—which my Joryn is _not_!" Glenna's eyes snapped to punctuate Joryn's honest character.

"Perhaps—of course," Jaime sighed, settling back down. "Yet, it's a bit difficult to think of my lady having some other man's hands all over her naked body, even as we _speak_—"

"You worry for naught, Master Jaime, and it's good that ye're a bit jealous—that means you truly love the Lady Brienne."

"That I do, Glenna, that I do."

"Now roll over, Master Jaime. Let's finish you up and get you back to your lady."

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my little story—from other countries, no less! how wonderful!—and a very special thank you to those who have taken the time to write a response/follow me/favorite me! I am delighted! Thank you to my guest reviewers—how lovely of you all—I'm so sorry I can't thank you personally. If you took the time to read this—PLEASE take just a moment more to send me a word or two (it doesn't have to be much) to tell me what you thought (unless you just plain ol' hated it and think I suck. In that case, maybe just move on. Fragile writer's ego, you know!)! Can't wait for **_**Game of Thrones**_** Season 4…**


	4. Chapter 4: Of Beauty and Truth

**A/N: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! I hope you all enjoy. Please please please drop me a word or two in review! It'd make my day!**

**Chapter 4: Of Beauty and Truth**

One of the very best things about Brienne of Tarth was that she could fuck for hours. Another and no less spectacular thing was that she _wanted_ to. Let other men have their waifish, delicate, indoorsy women—Jaime Lannister was perfectly pleased to take his sword-wielding, men's clothes-wearing, statuesque wench to bed. These were the thoughts on his mind as he made his way to her rooms. He knew she wasn't finished with being attended to, but he simply couldn't wait another moment to see her.

He had silently slipped through the chamber door when Joryn had briefly exited to collect a small pot containing a sugar-salt scrub, the next delight in Lady Brienne's Valentinus gift. Jaime plucked the pot from Joryn's surprised hands as he went to re-enter Brienne's room, delivering the taller and nearly as handsome younger man such a look that so clearly said _fuck off you bastard_ that only the Stranger Himself—or perhaps the Hound—could have inspired it. Joryn almost stumbled in his haste to get away, and Jaime narrowly escaped dropping the pot and alerting his lady to his presence as he went back through the door.

But the Lady Brienne made no move nor noise. When Jaime straightened up, he was treated to the sight of her powerful yet graceful body, shining with remnants of the oil of roses, bathed in winking candlelight cast from the dozens of pillars scattered about the cozy room. She lay on her stomach, head turned to the side and eyes closed. Her yellow hair curled prettily around her face, a few tendrils teased her nape and the tops of her shoulders. Jaime longed to settle himself over her, twirl her lengthening hair in his fingers, and deliver soft, sweet kisses to her hairline, the back of her neck, down her shoulder blades, along the curve of her spine, and below the thin sheet that just covered her delicious backside. A hint of her cleft peeked above the sheet. Jaime swallowed hard. Joryn must have seen it. Jaime wondered how Glenna's son had contained himself from drawing his fingertips down her perfect, round ass…placing the tiniest of kisses at the top of the crease… Luckily for the young man, Jaime was too caught up in thinking about the delights of Brienne's truly lovely ass to really contemplate the fact that Joryn had just seen it, just had his hands near it, around it, maybe even on it… _Damn it. It looks like a gorgeous, round, succulent, white peach. I want to bite it... I could bounce golden dragons off that thing, and then I could bite it. _He grinned to himself_. Now, that's a saucy game for later, indeed… _A look of pure peace permeated Brienne's repose. Nothing about her person appeared tense or clenched or somber or preoccupied. She was just relaxed. Truly relaxed. A small smile played about her lips. Jaime just looked at her in that moment. He was in awe. She was so _beautiful_. She _was_. Why didn't anyone else see it the way he did?

That was what had caused him to go blind with rage the day that he had cracked Red Ronnet across his stupid bastard's face with his golden hand. No one was going to ever disrespect Brienne again, especially in his hearing. Jaime had been so, so satisfied when Connington's teeth tumbled out of his mouth in a gush of red, even more satisfied to hear Ronnet's stunned, bloody burble calling Brienne by her proper name, even attaching _Beauty_ to it. Brienne _was_ beautiful. She always had been, always would be, and everyone should take a moment to see it. Her very soul lit up her beauty and poured out of the top of her head and seemed to permeate everything around her. _As long as you let it. As long as you gave her the space to shine her light._ And that was the moment when Jaime had decided that he'd had enough, enough dirt and shit and lies and secrets and disgusting men and suffering women and dead children, enough unhappiness, enough broken, bloody things, enough ugly whispered horrors of things that had happened or were going to happen. He concluded in that moment that nothing was worth doing without her; she deserved to know that he saw her for the true beauty that she was, that his rightful place was at her side to help her with whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, whatever she felt compelled to do. _She_ _was beautiful_, and he just wanted to be in the presence of real, lasting beauty for once in his life, beauty that was good and genuine and selfless, beauty that spoke to him, encouraged him, pointed him in the proper direction. Even if she just let him be near her for a moment, he just needed to see her and hear her speak a few words, no matter if all she had to say to him was to order him to go fuck himself… Fuck the king's orders. Fuck Cersei, and fuck his dead, stinking father. He was finished here. So he strode back into Black Harren's monstrosity and turned everything over to Ser Bonifer Hasty-Pudding the Goody-Goody and his bloody self-righteous castrated Holy Eighty-Six. And then the Kingslayer had mounted Honor and ridden off to find the Maid, not to save her from a bear and a tourney sword this time, but instead to complete the saving of himself.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

Of course when Jaime found Brienne there wasn't time to revel in her beauty, or make grand speeches, or even fall on his knees before her in a cascade of spotless white cloak and pledge her his sword for eternity as he had imagined doing. No. He had come across her finally, in the dark and the damp of the Riverlands, filthy and exhausted, disheartened, no closer to finding Sansa Stark than when he had first left her. He'd ridden up and she'd simply slowly removed her hand from Oathkeeper's hilt and nodded to him, not even a ghost of a smile on her lips. Their horses fell in step together, side by side; for miles, the wet squelch-crunch of leaves under the horses' hooves was the only sound in the forefront.

Then there followed times of defeat and dead ends, and even more horrific encounters with various forms of life. "When did 'dead' stop meaning _dead_? By the gods, should we set the supper table for my doting father tonight? Oh wait—don't forget to save room for Joff and my mother as well! And why not your mother too? And your siblings? If Sansa and Arya are still alive, are they also _dead_? If they are, in fact, _dead_, can they also yet _live_? Are _we_ alive? Or are we _dead_? How would we know?! Seven hells! Is the Stranger sleeping or laughing?!"Jaime railed loudly and drunkenly to Brienne on more than one night, to which Brienne in her quiet way would look at him, sigh, and say something like, "Isn't it the ironborn who say, '_what is dead may never die_'?"

"What in all the seven fucking bloody hells is that supposed to mean?!" Jaime would counter, and Brienne would look at him again, shake her head slightly, and turn her gaze back to their campfire.

One night, Jaime finally roared, "Enough!" and Brienne nodded acquiescence, and the two made their way to Casterly Rock to regroup and rest and figure out what was the right thing to do next.

And at Casterly Rock they had been for several moon-turns, and they decided that they would choose to live, since alive they appeared to be. So it was there that the Maid of Tarth gave herself to the Golden Hand, and it was there that the Golden Hand gave himself to the Maid of Tarth, and together they began to prepare for whatever was to come, and their love grew strong and steadily.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Brienne stirred a little but did not open her eyes, and Jaime shook himself from his reverie and approached her, awkwardly popping the lid off of the pot of sugar-salt scrub. He scooped out some with his one good set of fingers, and swirled the grainy but deliciously-scented substance over her back and down her arms. Brienne's skin pinkened under the exfoliation, and a tantalizing citrusy scent filled the air. She sighed deeply in contentment, and Jaime in that moment slid the sheet from her backside and began a roughened caress over her peach of an ass and down her hardened legs. He slid his hand back up to tease her hips one at a time, then under her backside at the top of her legs, then, practically salivating, he slid the pad of his thumb lightly up the crease of the cleft of her ass. Brienne softly moaned and seemed to melt into the table. Jaime whipped off his tunic and placed a knee on top of the table, moving up to cover her with his body, his good hand returning to the soft caress of her ass. Balancing on his right arm, his left knee between her legs, his right knee next to her right hip, Jaime lowered his bare chest to her bare back and began to kiss and lick her neck. He reveled in the salty-sweet tang the scrub left on his tongue, and his fingertips eased themselves between her buttocks and ghosted over her woman's place. He began a low lion's purr deep in his throat upon feeling her wetness on his fingers. She shifted slightly under him, opening her legs wider, and his purr turned into a growl, his own arousal growing achingly. His licking at her neck grew more intense, and he slid his tongue down, down her back, licking at her hips, teasing the sweet indentation at the top of her ass, and then he slid two fingertips just inside of her entrance. Brienne gasped deeply in pleasure, sighing, "Oh Joryn, yes, like that, " and Jaime froze, blood thundering in his ears.


	5. Chapter 5: Of Jests and Revenge

**Chapter 5: Of Misplaced Jests and Sweet Revenge**

Jaime scrabbled backward off of the table as quickly as if he'd suddenly discovered he'd been making love to Loras Tyrell. "What—" his voice was dangerously quiet. "Wh—what did you just say?" He began to shake. "Who—what—"

Brienne quickly turned, her eyes wide and fluttering, a hand coming up to her mouth. "Oh, Jaime! Oh Gods!"

Jaime took a few steps, stumbled and lost his balance, landing hard on his ass. He clutched at his chest, eyes huge. He began to hyperventilate. "J-JORYN?!"

He trained stricken eyes on Brienne, his face a rictus of misery. She had partially risen, naked as her name-day, her face buried in her hands—and _she_ was silently shaking.

Jaime turned and grabbed at the thickly tiled floor. "Gods, gods…" His stomach clenched. He thought he might be ill. He was definitely going to be ill. He _couldn't_ be ill. Frustrated, confused, full of too many emotions, Jaime Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer himself, began to weep.

Brienne's head shot up at the strangled sounds coming from her golden knight. Face flushed and streaked with tears, she leapt off of the table and went to his side. "Jaime—"

"G—get away from me, wench," Jaime sputtered, shoving her.

"Jaime, really—please! Listen to me—" And then the Lady of Tarth said some words that seemed to be coming from very, very far away. A crimson haze like a strong Dornish red had dulled Jaime's brain. He could not hear her. He could barely see. She tried again, louder, placing a hand on his arm, shaking gently, and then—

"WH—WHAT?"

"—a _jest_, Jaime. My love, I was just having some fun with you. I was laughing just now—the look on your face—how could you actually believe that I—"

Jaime sat up and grabbed Brienne's chin to look her straight in her fathomless blue eyes. "Say. That. Again." he said quietly.

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"Right," Jaime said. "well. That settles it." He got to his feet, pulling himself to his full height, and took a deep breath. Then he stooped and snatched up the bewildered Brienne by the backs of her thighs, so that her torso flopped over his shoulder, her round peach of an arse on glorious display. "Let's go." He strode quickly from the room.

"Jaime! What are you doing? Put me _down_!" Brienne found her voice, quickly becoming irritated and alarmed.

"I think not," Jaime quickened his step down the stone corridor.

Brienne began to struggle, but Jaime simply tightened his arms around her thighs. "Jaime! I'm not jesting! Put me down right now! By the Seven, _I have no clothes_!"

"No." Jaime flung open a door with his good hand and continued down a flight of stairs.

"Jaime—" Brienne's voice grew in anger, and her struggles became more violent. "Jaime, enough of this! I was having a _laugh_—you are no stranger to having a laugh at another's expense—Jaime! By the Gods! I have no clothes! _I have no clothes!_ You _must _put me down _now_!"

"Perhaps you need to visit the maester, wench. I said—just a moment ago, quite clearly, in fact—'no'. I have absolutely no intention of putting you down. Yet." Jaime, none too gently, rounded a bend in the staircase and bounded down another flight of stairs, nearly knocking Brienne's head against the wall at the landing.

"Jaime—all right, you've had your revenge—you must put me down! _You have to put me down!_ _Please!_ Oh Gods! _We're running out of stairs!"_ Brienne began to panic.

"How true. So we are. Out of stairs. Well, I suppose that means there's nowhere to go but—" Mid-sentence, Jaime paused at another large door, opened it, and the two were instantly dappled in sunshine. "—out."

Brienne shrieked.

The Lady of Tarth began to beat on the Kingslayer's back with her fists, but his grip was of Valyrian steel.

Jaime traversed a long, columned, stone-flagged corridor, half-open to the elements, small trees flanking the edge of the stones, flowering plants cascading from the upper level, the foliage forming a semblance of a wall. Voices and sounds of work being done could be heard at a short distance in front of them. They would burst into the open courtyard in moments. _"Damn you to all Seven Hells, Jaime—"_

"You should really keep quiet, my lady," Jaime recommended. "You are, as you say, without clothes, and all of this screaming and cursing and carrying on will only bring a large amount of people running to your rescue. The quieter you are, the smaller our audience."

Brienne went limp and lapsed into silence, defeated.

"Look at it this way," Jaime reasoned. "If anyone comes upon us, I won't be the only one who knows for sure that you're all woman."

Hot tears stung Brienne's eyes. In seconds they would enter the courtyard, in full view of much of the household of Casterly Rock—men, women, even children—and then Brienne's humiliation would be complete. Her blocky, mannish body would be exposed for all to see—her backside large and prominent and _high in the air_—people would whisper about it for months, _months!_ Whispers would be the _nicest_ of reactions—fellow knights would use it as more fodder with which to shame her and get her off her guard. She would have no fighting man's trust or respect—and she had held those achievements so tentatively before. What would she do then? She was fit for nothing else. Where would she go? The entire Seven Kingdoms would all laugh at how the Kingslayer had finally trashed his Whore—how brilliant it would be—there would be songs and songs (oh Gods! there would be_ songs!_) written about it—a perfect, complete, eternal humiliation—what was that Whore of Tarth thinking? Could she really have believed that the shining, golden Jaime Lannister had loved _her_? It would be worse than what Red Ronnet had done to her, so many years ago…_how could this be happening? How did my jest go so horribly wrong so quickly? I thought Jaime truly cared for me! How could I have allowed myself to make such a horrible_—

And then, just before Jaime was to stride into the open yard, he swerved sharply to the right, ducking vines and narrowly avoiding low tree branches, and Brienne realized they were on a dirt path in the middle of the Rock's vast gardens, and Jaime began to run.

Brienne grunted as her body jounced uncomfortably over Jaime's shoulder as he pounded the uneven ground. "What is happening? What are you _doing_?" she hissed.

"Quiet, wench," he huffed.

The surrounding trees and plants grew more dense, dark, and tall the further Jaime ran, and much of it scraped Brienne's naked skin as he flew past. _I'm surely bleeding in a half-dozen places,_ she thought, but then Jaime darted into a thick copse of ancient trees. "You _can_ swim, can't you, my lady?"

Before she could respond Jaime halted suddenly and gave Brienne a great shove. For a heartbeat she was in the air, and then in the next instant the breath was nearly knocked out of her as she hit the surface of the coldest, hardest water she'd ever experienced and, her body being as muscular as it was, she immediately sank like a stone.

Of course the Lady of Tarth could swim. And she did, once she realized what had happened. Brienne kicked for the surface and broke it, coughing. Her backside stung where it had hit the water. She dashed droplets from her eyes and looked up at a raucous sound.

Jaime was laughing.

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the update! I hope it wasn't too disappointing after waiting for nearly a month. I plan to post Chapter 6 soon. Thank you for reading! Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6: Of Water and Heat

**A/N: Yes, I know—it is absolutely sickening that it's taken me so long to update. I don't know what to say—the end of the school year and summer sank their teeth into me. Yikes. I hope that this makes up for it. I hope you all enjoy (if I have any readers left)! Please review! (And if you are reading, thank you, thank you!)**

**Chapter 6: Of Water and Heat**

"You are a right bastard, Jaime Lannister," Brienne of Tarth sputtered, treading water in the frigid pool.

Jaime wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and tried to stop laughing. "Jaime Hill, at your service, my lady." He executed a sweeping courtly bow. "Come to think of it—that is a most interesting concept…yes! Let's play that bed-game: I'll be the lowly hedge knight, Jaime Hill, and you can be Brienne Storm, a lady's maid, and we can play come-into-my-castle—though I think we'll need to find you a gown first—perhaps even a pink one—"

Suddenly Jaime lost his balance and fell headlong into the water, the result of Brienne grabbing a clump of grasses at the edge of the pool with one hand, kicking up with her strong legs, and snagging him behind his knee with her other hand.

"Bloody hells, it's colder in here than I remember!" Jaime said, treading water himself. "Haven't you tortured me enough today, wench?"

In response, Brienne sent a wall of water over Jaime's head.

"Come now," Jaime coughed. "We could do this all day. You're a good swimmer, I'm a marvelous swimmer—" Another wall of water cascaded toward him, but this time, the Kingslayer darted to the side.

"Oh, but my lady has her blood up!" Jaime said, grinning. "Come, wench, stop splashing me and swim over here and we'll climb up out of this freezing water and you can wrap those lovely long legs of yours around my head and I'll apologize to you properly."

Brienne glared at him, but swam over calmly anyway—only to shove down on his shoulders with all her might upon reaching him, giving him a deep and thorough dunking.

She quickly kicked away as soon as she took her hands from his shoulders, but Jaime proved too fast for her. He snatched her ankle and yanked, pulling her deeper and underneath him. He locked his arms around hers and kissed her hard, Brienne struggling in indignance amidst a commotion of bubbles.

Jaime let go so that they could both surface to breathe. He laughed as soon as his head was above-water; she coughed, ice-blue eyes snapping.

"I was _naked_, Jaime!" To her shame, tears pricked at her eyes. "_Anyone _could have seen me!"

Jaime sobered. "Oh my love, your body is _perfect_—sculpted, tall, lean, strong! If anyone saw, of what is there to be ashamed?"

"Oh Jaime—" Brienne turned her back in frustration and hurt. As someone who had always enjoyed enviable physical beauty, he just didn't understand. He never would.

Jaime swam to her and grazed her shoulder with a fingertip. "Don't be upset, Brienne, please…follow me. I have something to show you."

"I've already seen what you have to show me, and I'm not in the mood right now. I think that instead you should go back to the castle and get me some clothes. I have no intention of walking back in the same condition that I arrived."

"Please, Brienne—just follow me." Jaime looked at her so pleadingly, that the Lady of Tarth finally gave in.

"I am _not_ going to play come-into-my-castle, you know."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jaime purred, cutting a lazy stroke through the water.

The pool narrowed at the opposite side, choked by low-hanging trees and tall reeds, and it was toward that end that Jaime led her. As they got closer, Brienne saw that the pool was not really a pool at all, but merely part of a creek that bent and stretched for half a league around the thick foliage, curving between outcroppings of rock and plants, eventually seeming to originate somewhere inside a cavern in one of the Rock's large stony hills that jutted up all over Jaime's boyhood home, as complicated as the intricate sand-castles a younger Brienne used to shape on Tarth's pristine beaches.

A mist hovered at the mouth of the cavern, and a hiss sounded in the distance. Somewhere inside of the stone hill cascades of water fed the creek.

The trees were a bit thinner here, but still tall and deliciously spicy-smelling and fresh. Lush grassy banks flanked both sides of the creek, disappearing into the shade cast by the great hill, so darkly-green they looked wet. The creek water, in turn, glistened nearly black. It was quiet but for the sounds of the distant water and the couple's movements through the creek. The castle and its noise and occupants were far away and out of sight. "Oh, it's lovely, Jaime," Brienne breathed, her ire forgotten. "Thank you for showing me."

"Silly woman," Jaime turned. "Yes, this is beautiful, but there is more I want you to see." He swam closer to the hill.

Brienne realized that the nearer they drew to the hill, the warmer the water became—which was surprising since the air temperature grew cooler in the shade. At the mouth of the cavern, Brienne discovered that the mist also consisted of clouds of steam. The water became as inviting as a luxurious bath. She looked at Jaime wonderingly.

He just smiled back and swam ahead. "Just a little farther…there now… here we can stand."

Brienne stood, lovely warm water teasing her clavicle. She looked up and around at black, wet, glittering cavern walls, and breathed the damp, dense air. She looked over at Jaime—but he had disappeared.

"Come here, my love." His voice echoed in the cavern.

"Where?"

Jaime's head and shoulders suddenly appeared from behind a wall of rock on the side of the cavern. He stretched out his hand. "This is what I wanted to show you."

Jaime drew Brienne into a narrow alcove and onto a long, flat underwater ledge that ran its length. He positioned her between his legs and leaned back against the rocky wall, drawing Brienne into his chest and crossing his arms over hers. The alcove was so narrow that Jaime could easily prop his feet against the opposite wall, comfortably holding the two of them in place. The water lapped pleasantly at the tops of their chests; Brienne's breasts were mostly submerged.

"Do you like my hiding-place?" he asked, nuzzling her ear. "I used to come here as a child when I wanted to be alone. No one ever bothered me here."

"No one?"

"No one. Not Cersei—she was not fond of dark, dank places. Not Tyrion—he was alone enough, I suppose. At least, he _felt _alone. I, on the other hand, sometimes tired of being a twin. Twins are never alone."

"Why did you bring me here, then?"

"I wanted to share this with you. I want to share everything with you—even the silly things."

Brienne twisted her neck to catch Jaime's mouth.

"Forgive me?" They both said, or perhaps it was just a thought shared between them. For a while, they heard nothing but flowing water.

XOXOXOX

"Rest your feet on the wall, Brienne, like I am doing," Jaime encouraged after a time. "Lean your head back on my shoulder."

Brienne did so; her knees bent comfortably. She closed her eyes and melted into Jaime, breathing the humid air deep into her lungs. Jaime softly kissed the side of her neck. He dropped his right arm down over her waist to lightly anchor her body to his, bringing up his left hand to cup her left breast. Her flesh was lush and round under his palm. He gently pulled her nipple to a hard peak, a soft moan coming from her throat, her own hands finding purchase on top of his thighs. Jaime smiled to himself in contentment. It must be near her moon-time; Brienne's breasts were always a bit larger and more sensitive then. He licked at the shell of her ear, his hot breath further enticing her, and his left hand slowly reached across her body, paying attention to her other lovely breast too.

Brienne sighed deeply, and Jaime carefully slid his arms underneath her knees and hooked her legs over his own. He moved his feet further apart on the wall, cleverly spreading Brienne's legs very wide. Her eyes fluttered open. "Jaime—"

"Hush, love. Just kiss me."

Jaime slid down the wall a bit, moving forward a few inches on the underwater rock bench, so that their knees and Brienne's center drew close to the opposite wall. Then suddenly, Brienne felt them: hot jets of water spouting from the opposite wall, hitting her inner thighs—and tickling her very vulnerable woman's place. She tensed instinctively. Jaime chuckled low in his throat, pulling gently at her lips with his own, tantalizing her mouth with his tongue, spreading her legs even farther apart with his legs. He kept his right arm over her waist and his left hand continued to play with her breasts. Brienne began to whimper. A warm flush of lust and satisfaction spread throughout Jaime's body, and his cock grew rock-hard; Brienne felt it against the small of her back, but she could barely register any sensation other than the mind-blowing ones emanating from between her legs, as the jets of water caused her sweet, intimate flesh to swell and throb.

She longed to touch herself, to have Jaime touch her, to have long, skilled fingers stroke her swollen folds and then slide inside of her own tight cavern, but Brienne found that for some reason she couldn't bring herself to relax her grip on Jaime's thighs, and Jaime did nothing but chuckle quietly as her legs began to quiver. Her ecstasy was building, and her moans became throaty cries, and Jaime recited a litany of whispers in her ear, just _Brienne, Brienne, Brienne,_ but her name repeated in his loving, aroused tone translated into _I love you, I love all of you, you are gorgeous, you are mine, I am yours, forever, forever, and forever,_ and much and more, all of the secret words lovers' souls need to hear and know. Brienne came apart with Jaime's voice in her ear, his arms wrapped around her chest, his legs anchoring hers. When her shaking limbs began to calm, he folded her into him and held her quietly, and for a time there was nothing but a dim cavern, warm water, and the pounding of two hearts.


	7. Chapter 7: Of Positions and Time

**A/N:** Excuse me, you might ask—but from _where_ did that blanket appear? Ah, I reply. Patience. All will be revealed in due time…

**Chapter 7: Of Positions and Time **

"Mmmmm…Jaime," Brienne murmured, stretching her limbs lazily, doing her best impression of a carefree Lannister cat. A few water droplets danced across her drying skin. "It's truly wonderful here."

The two lay on a soft blanket on the grass, air-drying themselves, under a spreading tree of piney branches, after departing their watery retreat. The Golden Knight responded to his lady-love by softly kissing her bare shoulder. He curled himself around her, ever the protective male lion.

"_You_ make all of this wonderful."

"Flatterer."

"You love it."

"I hate to say that I certainly do not dislike it," Brienne smiled.

"You '_hate_ to say'? Hm. You _hate_. To say." Brienne could almost feel Jaime rolling the words around in his brain. "Now why would the Lady Brienne '_hate_ to say' that she 'certainly does not dislike' my compliments? Interesting—is the lady afraid to admit that the _Kingslayer_ can turn her head? Is she afraid for the _Kingslayer_ to have the upper hand? Ah! That must be it! Indeed... Though truly, it must be said—it's not quite sporting of the Lady of Tarth, is it, when considering that the poor _Kingslayer_ only has the _one_ hand left, and the non-dominant one at that—"

"Do you never tire of these word-games, ser?"

"Not really, no. Do they annoy you?"

"What happens if I say 'yes'?"

"I'd say, it's a good thing you haven't spent any real time around Tyrion."

Jaime took that opportunity to slide his knee between her thighs; his hardened cock slid over her buttocks and teased her woman's place.

"Jaime…"

"Or—" he purred low. "mayhap I am only partially correct in my assumptions. Mayhap my compliments to the Lady of Tarth have nothing whatsoever to do with the deliverer, but instead the problem lies with the receiver. Does my lady still not believe herself entirely worthy of pretty words? The best she can do is to say that she 'hates to say that she does not dislike' such niceties." He spoke his words directly into her ear; his lips grazed her lobe. "Brienne, has anyone ever told you that sometimes you think too much—even talk too much?" She stiffened in protest and opened her mouth to retort, but Jaime twisted her chin to silence her with a deep kiss.

Despite his efforts, Brienne's body did not relax.

"No one can see us, my lady," Jaime said, his lips traveling from her mouth back to her ear, her hairline, the back of her neck. "No one ever comes here but me." Brienne made a derisive noise and remained stiff, which Jaime found amusing, as they were both naked as their name-days in the out-of-doors. He would have thought she would have given up on propriety and shyness earlier, when they were inside of the cave.

"Even if someone _could_ see us, then let them look! Let them watch how a man makes proper love to his lady—let's show them how it's done." Jaime curled his left arm around her body, covering and cradling her breasts at the same time. He pulled her very close and slid himself inside of her, his thighs firmly pressed to the backs of hers, and strangely enough, in spite of being naked, Brienne's intimate places were quite hidden, and she did relax a little. Jaime uttered a groan into her damp hair, lightly pinching one of her nipples.

Brienne sucked in her breath audibly at the feel of his long, thick length deeply caressing her aching insides, and the exquisite tight pleasure his fingers drew from her breasts. Jaime barely moved behind her; he just slowly rocked her, his cock gently circling inside of and pressing against her walls. For him, there was all the time in the world.

Jaime always refused to rush their passion. One morning, when Brienne had awakened first, she had nestled closely to him, reveling in the warmth and comfort of their sleepy bodies and goosedown bedding, relishing the dusky quiet before the entire castle arose. She remembered having pressed her bare breasts against his back and snaked her arms and legs around his torso, trying to awaken the lion. That morning she knew he had needed to be elsewhere shortly after dawn, so she was expecting a sweet little tumble—instead, Jaime had given her his complete, unhurried attention for nearly two hours before throwing on a tunic and breeches and striding off to meet someone about something, her scent and taste all over him. She had felt discomfited to cause his tardiness, but he had shown no regret. He had taken his time as usual and loved her well and long with plenty of sweet words and smiles. She remembered protesting the length of their activity at the beginning of their encounter, but honestly, she had ceased caring when Jaime had responded by flipping her over onto her hands and knees and deliciously impaling her on his fingers. There had been a time when Brienne would have sworn to all of the gods old and new that even a great passion could never make her lose focus on the important expectations of other people, but Jaime and his requited love had quickly rendered her previous viewpoints absurd and intangible.

Brienne recalled that the intimate attention from Jaime's hand had made her very incapable of rational speech at that moment. Once he had grown ready again, he had replaced his fingers with something more satisfying, and he had slowly thrust into her, gripping her hips as best he could, holding her in place and both of them in check with his slow rhythm. There were times that Brienne would have been inclined to a quick little shag, or a faster, harder pace, but Jaime was stubborn and persistent and would have none of it. (She smiled to herself at her present situation—could she ever have imagined being so besotted that she could replay a

past intimate moment in her mind at the same time that she was enjoying a current one?! How her septa would have in turn scoffed at, scolded, and whipped her for such thoughts! She laughed ruefully though inwardly at herself). And here she was, months later, still mentally blushing beet-red at her wanton actions and thoughts (though with the passage of time, admittedly less-so every day)—but also simultaneously, silently confessing that being on all fours with Jaime behind her—tall, strong, rakishly handsome, and _in control_—was one of her favorite lovemaking positions—not that she had ever (or would ever) tell _him_ that.

As their experiences together multiplied, Brienne had been surprised to discover that she was secretly pleased to behave now and then in ways that stirred within her a submissive femininity. It was refreshingly pleasant to play the quintessential female, a creature of quieter wiles and gentler ways of being in the world. She often wondered if young, highborn women such as Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark liked being 'proper ladies', praised and desired for their beauty, position, and female accomplishments, yet also requiring the protection of men. She wondered if they enjoyed making love, or even if they referred to it as such, and in which position. (Brienne had colored as she realized that both Sansa and Margaery would make love as _married_ women, with the hopes of strengthening their houses with offspring, regardless of their feelings about the act or how it was performed. She, Brienne, was not married and was not actively trying to bring forth Lannister cubs). She had chosen to hurry past this confusing thought then as well as now, as it surfaced again in her mind.

Jaime had broken her reverie at that earlier time when he had curled himself over her, releasing her hips to clasp her around her torso, the bare heat of his chest flush against her back. His lips had grazed the nape of her neck, and then he had sighed loudly and mournfully into the soft yellow waves of her hair. "The sun is rising, my love," he had said. She had acknowledged him by pressing back against his body, exhaling slowly, and opening her eyes to view dim rays of light peeking around the edges of the window curtains, the encroaching sun and the warmth of her lover dispelling her analytical thoughts.

Now she turned her mind to other women to distract herself—less proper women—the Mormont women. They were likely the only women with whom she could truly commiserate, but she had never met the she-bears; she had only heard rumor of their masculine, northern ways. She envied them: they did not seem to draw ridicule in the same way that she always had. _What would it have been like to have had a mother and a sister who were more like me?_ And then Brienne was ashamed of herself—how could she so disrespect the memories of her mother and sister?—and she physically shook off that thought, causing Jaime in the present to clutch at her harder, and push himself deeper, mistaking her tremor as one made out of ecstasy and not personal disgust. Brienne gasped at the new twinge of pleasure and closed her eyes. Jaime softly bit at the junction of her shoulder and neck, his breath hot and soothing on her skin. Brienne shivered for good reasons this time; her top hand reached behind to find purchase on his top leg. She gripped his thigh tightly, her fingers pressing into the toned flesh, gluing his lower body to hers. They could not be closer. She cast backward in her mind again, to anchor herself to her original pleasurable thoughts, and thus float back completely within the present sensations.

Brienne could almost swear that Jaime exulted a bit louder and longer when he took her from behind. He reveled in the masculine domination only infinitesimally more than the gorgeous feel and sight of his wench when she proudly rode his cock. _Mmmm…Jaime's cock…._

Brienne hadn't brought up the subject of the duration of their lovemaking again, for several reasons. Jaime might think her wanton, and yes, she still worried about that. Years of lectures from her septa died hard. She still reddened at the idea of a man and a woman discussing anything to do with lovemaking—even though she and Jaime were by now quite educated in each other's physical topographies, even as his cock was currently buried deep within her. She was glad Jaime couldn't see her flustered face.

_Am I really complaining that he wants to love me long each time? No, I'm not complaining. Gods, I am not complaining! …I'm just…curious._ Brienne couldn't count the number of times she had been within earshot of men's bawdy conversations, and of course, there had been jokes about how long each man could perform, but she had inferred that length of performance for some reason was further proof of a man's, well, perceived _manliness_ among other men—and nothing whatsoever to do with the pleasure or affection between the two lovers. Come to think of it, it was more than a bit strange that men talked to _each other_ about how long they lasted in the act…

_I wonder if Jamie's trying to prove something to me with these marathon lovemaking sessions. Could it be because of the loss of his hand? Does he feel like he needs to show me that he is still a champion in all matters physical? Does he need to prove that he is stronger than me? Oh gods…that must be it. This is largely a physical contest. He thinks that I'm already too masculine, too strong, so he must assert his manhood with me every time—_

Her musings were interrupted when Jaime suddenly pulled out and rolled to his back. Brienne turned in surprise.

"It's all right, love. I just want to look at your face, that's all. Mayhap my lady would like to take a ride?" Jaime gestured to his cock, standing proud and ready.

Brienne smiled softly and swung a leg over his thighs, easily sliding onto him. Jaime pulled his knees up and bent them, allowing Brienne to lean back slightly against them. Jaime groaned at her lovely, toned body on full display, her legs spread wide, her knees framing his torso. Brienne closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and grasped her ankles to steady herself.

…_I'll bet women like Cersei never have upsetting thoughts during lovemaking…_

And suddenly the connection and the details of that thought horrified her—it was ghastly—so much worse than thinking of Sansa and Margaery in such an intimate way, for so many reasons! _By the gods, what is wrong with me?!_

"That's a sweet sight, to be sure, my lady, but I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours."

Brienne snapped opened her eyes, picked up her head, and transferred her hands to rest flat on his chest. Jaime grunted with satisfaction and held her hips in a vice-like grip, beginning to plunge slowly and steadily upward into her. His green eyes sparked and locked onto her blue ones, issuing a silent challenge.

Brienne found herself still distracted by her previous thoughts and repulsed by a whole new set. She tried to break eye contact with Jaime, but he would have none of it—he only thrust up harder when her gaze began to slide away from his—but soon he realized that something was amiss, and so his left arm grabbed around her waist and flipped her body so she lay underneath him. He brought his arms up to frame her face; his body solidly between her legs and pressed to her torso; his lips and nose skimming hers. "I love you, Brienne." She felt the words as much as heard them and knew them to be true. She opened her eyes wide in response and met his gaze.

"And I, you, my Jaime." Though it was uttered softly and without hesitation, it was said without a smile, and her eyes blurred.

"Yet something distracts you."

"Oh, no, I—"

"You are a very bad liar." Jaime smirked, lifted himself off of her, and kissed his way down her lithe body. Upon reaching the apex of her thighs, he murmured, "I think I must teach you some focus, my love. All good knights must excel at being able to focus on the task at hand." His forearms held open her legs, his fingertips parted her sweet folds, and his mouth descended on the plump flesh within, gently sucking, nipping, and circling the delicious center, making her swell and twitch into his greedy mouth.

Brienne took a deep breath and finally let go of all but the glorious feel of Jaime's mouth. She arched her back and cupped her own breasts, her nipples sensitive and surprisingly cool to her touch. She could feel Jaime smile against her flesh, and when he slid his thumb from her folds over her woman's place and between her buttocks and back again, teasing tiny circles over her wet entrance and her most private place, her climax surged and broke and rolled over her in waves. She cried out, heat shooting throughout her body, and Jaime hooked his right arm over her thigh, sucked hard at her flesh, and plunged two fingers deep inside of her, curling them upwards, gloating inwardly at the tight and strong contractions that squeezed him.

Brienne felt like she was falling and dying and being renewed all at once. She cast out for the proper emotion, but failed, and tears pricked at her eyes, and Jaime's touch overwhelmed her.

After a time, her hand skittered over his head, and Jaime circled her flesh with his tongue once more, slowly, slipped his fingers out of her, and kissed the inside of her thigh, pillowing his head on her leg, breathing hard. He took her hand from his hair, kissed the palm, and started to relax, but Brienne suddenly rolled to her side, almost decapitating Jaime.

He extricated himself, confused, and bent over her. She was shaking slightly. He grinned, thinking himself a very good lover indeed, and opened his mouth to tease her and congratulate himself, but then stopped as if cold water had been splashed over his head—because it was then that he realized Brienne was silently crying.

**A/N:** P.S. I can't believe I haven't updated this story in so long! Oh gods! If anyone is still reading this, and you liked it, please let me know. Kind words are so inspirational, after all…


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